


Without You

by TheElusiveDabbler (I_Write_Tragedies_Not_Sins)



Series: Self Therapy [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Grief, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-13 03:21:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9104446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Write_Tragedies_Not_Sins/pseuds/TheElusiveDabbler
Summary: *Trigger warnings for suicide, grief, etc*  A story about a two human females, after one dies.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A self-therapy piece. Not an exact replica of what I'm going through, but a possible future if things continue as they are. Loosely based in the DA fandom. Written while a tad drunk.

Tears stream down her face as the alcohol takes hold. Her mind swarms in a hazy buzz of old memories and broken promises. "I loved you. I always loved you. I probably always will," she whispers, clutching her hair in her hands. "I hate you. I hate this hold you have on me. I hate these emotions."

She tightens her fists, gripping her own hair until her knuckles turn white. She screams, folding in on herself as the sound rips itself from her throat. The hair comes out in clumps of soft silken texture mingled with splatters of her own blood. She lets it fall to the ground as she pounds her fists against her legs and stomach, screaming incoherently into the night air.

The pain in her chest is overwhelming, suffocating, toxic. She gasps, her breaths making her chest heave as the pain of loss tightens around her heart. Snot rolls down her face in thick gobs, dripping down her cheeks and across her lips. It's too much. She can barely breath as the forest blurs in and out of her field of vision. She looks down at the only person she's ever loved as she sobs.

Elia looks down at Trista's throat, sharp, shallow breaths piercing her chest. Bright red blood covers the porcelain pale skin. Trista's hand grips a small knife, the edge serrated like the gaping wound on her throat. Elia's hands reach toward her, grabbing for her clothes. Her finger tangle in Trista's tunic. "Why? Why?"

_It's your fault. You failed. it's always your fault. you failed. Again._

The voice of doubt slithers in her mind once again. Her own thoughts are a tangled mess of morbid wishes and pain. She wants it to be over. She prays to the Maker every day to take her last breath from her, to end the struggle and hurt and voices that claw at her mind. She's tired. Her body sags with the weight of her emotions. She only wants emptiness. The pitch black of nothingness to embrace her, cover her.

Slowly, she pries the dagger from Trista's hand. "I'll come to you, my love."

She pulls the blade across her throat with a smile. Tears still stain her cheeks with remorse and regret as she curls up next to Trista. She snuggles in close as the life begins to slip from her body. She doesn't even smell the stench of her bowels releasing as she fades from life, holding her lover's hand in hers.


End file.
